


got me all fucked up on love.

by milominderbinder



Series: maia's shameless fic a day in the month of may [31]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Drugs, Love, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 02:19:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1727522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milominderbinder/pseuds/milominderbinder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey's an addict, but it's not to any of the vices anyone would have expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	got me all fucked up on love.

The first time Mickey smokes a joint, he’s thirteen.

It’s with Iggy, and some of Iggy’s friends, in the deserted school parking lot after hours.  He feels excited, when he first realises what’s going on, when Iggy pulls the papers and tobacco and little baggy of weed out of his pocket, passes it over to one of his friends, a guy with dreadlocks and a tattoo at fifteen.  The guy rolls up a couple of joints with expert ease, and the whole time, Mickey’s trying to play it cool, sipping at his coke and leaning against the wall of the parking lot and not saying much, just listening to what Iggy and his friends are talking about, occasionally grunting in agreement.  He’s trying to seem like he’s older than thirteen, because Mickey fucking _hates_ being young.  All he wants is to grow up, and if getting high is the way to prove that he can do that, so be it.

When the joints finally get lit and passed around, it’s not a big deal to anyone else.  But Mickey’s kind of freaking out, only the good kind - he’s _excited_ , which isn’t something he has a reason to feel very often.  When dreadlocks guy passes him one of the lit joints, Mickey feels like he’s being passed a literal torch, some huge right of passage.

The smoking itself is kind of a shitty let down.  He knows better than to let himself cough, but the first inhalation burns at his lungs and makes his eyes water just a little too much, and he has to swallow _hard_ a couple of times to keep himself from making a scene.  He’s smoked cigarettes before, but this is different, and it takes him a little while to get used to it.

By the time he _has_ gotten used to it, the drugs themselves have started to kick in.  Iggy and his friends are already totally fucked up, giggling and shoving at each other and generally dicking around.  But Mickey doesn’t especially feel like joining in with them.  Instead, he lets his eyes drop closed, his head fall back against the wall behind him.  Being high turns out to just make him feel _calm,_ his head empty, for once, of the thousand frantic thoughts that always seem to be bothering him.  

He decides he likes it, if only for the peace and quiet.

\--

The first time Mickey gets properly, blackout drunk, he’s fourteen.

He’s had booze before, of course.  Sips of other people’s beers here and there because that’s what kids do, samples of harder stuff when he’s been able to get his hands on it just because he’s curious.  Mickey doesn’t like the taste of beer, at all, thinks it tastes like fizzing piss and would be quite happy to avoid it altogether.  Except that he knows guys like him are _supposed_ to like beer, and that it’s weird not to, and at fourteen Mickey already knows he’s weird in enough other ways that he doesn’t need to go adding to that list.  So when they’re at their Aunt Rande’s house for a barbecue and Tony hands him a beer, Mickey doesn’t say no.  And then it gets later, and all the adults are trashed already, and Mickey keeps sneaking beers - except it’s not really sneaking, because nobody gives a shit.

The next morning, he wakes up in Rande’s bathtub with a throbbing headache and a dry mouth.  He doesn’t remember a thing from after his fifth beer.

In a way, though, that’s kind of a comfort.  Mickey’s life is far from peaches and cream, some days it’s all he can do to even get out of bed, and escaping from that for a little while?  Well, it can hardly be a bad thing.

So he decides he likes drinking, if only for the escape.

\--

The first time Mickey falls in love, he’s sixteen, and it’s the worst thing to ever happen to him.

The second time Mickey falls in love he’s seventeen, fresh out of juvie, and it’s with the same guy as before.  Ian fucking Gallagher.  He’s dangerous, but only because of how he makes Mickey feel.

The third time, he’s eighteen, but it’s really just carrying on rather than starting again, an endless progression of ridiculousness, like his heart decided to have a competition with itself - _how much crazier can I drive myself over Ian Gallagher?_ The answer is a whole fucking lot, because Mickey feels fucking _insane._

He thinks about Ian all the fucking time, even when he’s with him, and it feels like being high.  His head might not be clear of all thoughts but it’s clear of all _other_ thoughts, like not a single other thing matter when he’s with Ian.  Being with Ian makes him dumb, it makes him takes risks, it makes him get caught over and over in the thing he never wanted anyone to know about, makes him to to Juvie twice and get fucking _married,_ because when he’s with Ian, there’s no space in his mind for common sense.

And time spent with Ian feels a whole lot like being drunk, too.  Because Mickey never seems to know what to say or do, but at the same time, he says things and does things, without thinking them through all the way - he makes shit crazy impulse decisions, lead only by the too-loud thumping of his heart and the sight of Ian, two things which are undeniably intertwined.  He comes out to a whole bar full of people when he’s totally fucking sober, and that’s not something that even computes, that’s not something that seems like _reality,_ for a long time after he’s done it.  The only explanation, he decides, is that he’s not fucking sober.  He’s drunk as _shit,_ only not on booze, he’s totally and ridiculously drunk on _Ian._ And it sounds cliche, but it’s the only logic he has.  Ian’s eyes and voice and his too-bright hair, the way the slightest tilt of his mouth can make Mickey’s heart sink or soar depending on the direction, the way his laugh actually makes Mickey’s stomach churn with happiness, the way he makes Mickey feel like he wants to be _brave,_ which is something he’s never felt before.

Mickey knows that he comes from a shit place and an even shitter family, and that nobody’s ever had very high expectations of him.  He thinks that if he told people he was an addict, they wouldn’t be surprised.  He had an early start, after all.  They probably wouldn’t bat an eyelid, would just ask him what it was; coke like his mom, drink like his dad, meth like a couple of his brothers.

As it turns out, Mickey’s following in a long and time honoured tradition among the Milkovich family - of getting totally fucked up for life by just one addictive thing.  Only his one addictive thing is _Ian,_ so he thinks, maybe, he doesn’t actually give a shit.

**Author's Note:**

> so, this is my last entry for the fic-a-day-in-may challenge! A day late, i know, forgive me, but at least i managed to produce 31 whole fics! i so didn't think i'd be able to do it. i wanted to do something ~special for the last day but i spent so long trying to think of something that would be good enough, i ran out of time to actually _write_ it, and i didn't come up with any good ideas anyway... so have this odd little rambly pseudo character-study instead?
> 
> anyway, i wont be posting a fic a day anymore, but once i finish posting melania, i am going to aim to post at least one story every week! so keep sending me prompts and things. 
> 
> find me at [mickeymilk.tumblr.com](http://mickeymilk.tumblr.com)


End file.
